Christmas with the Bakers
by DarkGidora
Summary: Christmas is the time for miracles, the time for giving gifts, the time for family. In Dulvey, Louisiana, there are traditions to celebrate, guests to warmly welcome, and a little girl who just wants to spread Christmas cheer to everyone who comes to her house. Even if it kills them.
1. Hark the Herald Angel Sings

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is the Property of Capcom. Any Christmas music not in the public domain is owned by their respective copyright holders.

* * *

"Angels we have heard on high,

Sweetly singing o'er the plains

And the mountains in reply

Echoing their Joyous Strains…"

Morgan finished the song. And immediately her hostess demanded an encore, her voice raising when Morgan hesitated.

She made the mistake of following it up with 'White Christmas'. She had barely managed to get to "Just like the one we used to know" when the hag backhanded her and glared into her eyes, boring straight through Morgan.

"Stop!" The hag yelled, loud enough to make Morgan's ears ring. She directed Morgan's attention to a dirty, boarded-up window. "Do you see any snow out there?"

Morgan looked to the window seeing nothing of the outside, then to the woman. She couldn't force herself to look at the her, instead changing her focus to Nate, wrapped in colored lighting and with a big, gaping wound in the side of his head. His chest was still rising and falling shallowly. Like she hadn't just been slapping Morgan, the hag tilted her head. "Go on."

'It's the most wonderful time of the Year' earned a rotten-toothed grin from the hag who leaned right into Morgan's peripheral vision, close enough to feel her reeking, hot breath against her face. It bled into 'It Came Upon a Midnight Clear'. That song about the Christmas shoes earned hear a slap to the face and a profanity-laden admonition to look keep things upbeat, there were children who wanted to hear her sing. She could've sworn she heard manic giggling when the next thing that popped into her head next was 'Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer'. The hag looked _pissed_ , but nodded.

She had no idea how long the crone forced her to continue. The room was hot and stank of rot and she could barely breathe, but she had to keep going, give encore after encore. She'd get cheers when she picked a song well, and shrieking and violence if she offended her hostess's tastes. She tried to work out a pattern; the really, really old stuff went over well, mostly. Anything mentioning snow did not. The woman winced at silly children's songs, like 'I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas', but softened when the little girl… where was the little girl… laughed. But it seemed luck of the draw. The singing had turned to sobbing half-intelligible lyrics. Her throat was raw and her eyes burned. Eventually her voice gave out.

The hag approached. Morgan turned her head to look at her brother. He was still now, and a mat of flies had covered his face by now, shifting constantly, patches of bone white skin and clotted red visible underneath the pile. She couldn't look at him anymore. Tears blurring her vision, she forced herself to look at the hag.

The hag nodded appreciatively. If it hadn't been for the past several hours, she would've thought the woman's tone was kind when she said. "You have a lovely voice, child."

Morgan tried to beg. "Please let me go."

Instead her throat felt torn apart and no sound came out.

The woman babbled on about frivolities, how Evie liked her performance and she would make a good big sister. She managed a wail at that thinking back to Nate smiling at her and saying there was nothing for them to worry about as they walked up the road to this house, looking to ask to use a phone. They had to get to Dulvey in a hurry if they wanted to make Christmas with mom and dad. Nate had just gotten his license and drove up to pick her up from school when she told her parents she wasn't going to make it back.

It was going to be a surprise.

When they saw the old woman with the lantern, they approached her to use a phone. She had been singing _The First Noel_ , and Morgan joined in, putting her choir practice to good use. The woman stared at her and smiled warmly, then things got confused and Morgan was screaming at Nate to run and falling to the ground and she woke up in the darkness, tied up. Until the old woman flipped a switch and the red, green, blue and orange lights wrapped around her and Nate provided enough dim illumination.

The woman rambled on a bit and then turned to leave, promising to come back soon with some cocoa. As soon as the door shut, Morgan was thrashing. Christmas lights were not that great a restraint, and Morgan managed to pry her way loose. She immediately ran over to her brother.

The mat of flies took off as she shooed them off, and she immediately gagged. His body wasn't warm, and she could see the cracks in his skull through the gaping wound in his head. The blood was almost black against his now bone-white skin, a pair of unfocused brown eyes boring into her. She planted her head against his slimy, stained t-shirt and _sobbed_. Something moved in his chest. She looked up at his face.

A centipede slid out of Nate's mouth, crawling over her.

Morgan screamed through a throat that felt full of knives, falling backwards on her ass and scrambling away from him. She clamped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. She heard the old woman yelling from far away, and the rapid beating of feet against the floor. She looked frantically around the room.

Cringing, Morgan grabbed one of her brother's arms and pulled, dragging him off the couch his body lay on. She let out a cry as his body thudded obscenely on the floor. She then set to work shoving the couch. It was heavy, she could barely move it. She heard the woman yelling something about how she had better not be scratching the floors. She shoved and shoved, and the couch was up against the door to the room she was in.

It thudded. The hag swore, promised Morgan that she'd be sorry. It thudded again. And the hag said that Evie would be very upset if she didn't open this fucking door, now.

Evie could die in a fire, for all Morgan cared.

She sat on the couch and hoarsely sang "Let it snow". It wasn't loud, but she hoped it was loud enough for the hag to hear. The door thudded a few more times, and the hag swore, lengthily and creatively, before stomping off. This couldn't last. The hag could get through the door eventually. Morgan had to get out before then.

She walked over toward the window and glanced it over. The wood that barricaded the window had mold on it, but it wasn't rotted through; it was sturdy. Prying it out would take some work.

Morgan got to work.

She had no idea how long she went at it. Her arms ached and head was swimming, and her hands were raw and she was soaked with sweat, and she hadn't managed to tear off the barricade. On occasion, something skittered across her feet. She kept at it until she was exhausted and even a little bit beyond.

Then she heard something behind her. She half turned. Something slowly swayed on its feet, person-shaped but not a person. It was dark, with glints of something lighter at the head and arms tinted by the reds, blues, greens, and yellows of the Christmas lights wound around it.

Marguerite Baker had taken her time before getting a hatchet. And she waited until she heard screaming before starting. The girl should've behaved herself, shouldn't have tried being clever. Evie would be displeased, but it was the girl's fault for blocking the door.

As the screams turned to gurgles turned to silence, Marguerite stopped chopping away at the door. That girl wasn't going to be making any more pretty songs. She'd wait to deal with that particular mess. As she turned and walked down the hall, she started singing.

"Siiilent night, Hooooly night.

All is calm, All is bright…"

* * *

 **Author's Note** : This was a random idea that struck me last week at work; a little anthology of 1000-1500 stories revolving around the Baker family celebrating Christmas like only an insane murderous cannibal clan can. I'd like to thank Ferric and Cakes Blargh for beta reading parts and being around to bounce ideas off of.

And yeah, I'm _totally_ not sick of Christmas music to the point where I legitimately find the fact our heroine was forced to sing them was a worse than her being eviscerated by her fungus zombie brother.


	2. Twas the Night Before Christmas

**Disclaimer:** Resident Evil is the property of Capcom.

* * *

Jack took a swig from the bottle. Marguerite and Evie both were sleeping; Marguerite tucking the girl to bed early. It was hard to convince her that Christmas would come faster if she'd just sleep a few hours, but she eventually went to sleep. It fell to him to put the gifts under the tree; they'd stopped squirming a few minutes ago. Mia was staying in the guest house again. She had misbehaved, scheming again. Marguerite was getting angry with her, ranting that she was trying to take her place. He tried to calm his wife down, only for her to storm off in a huff after asking him how he'd react if someone was trying to be Evie's father instead of him.

That wasn't going to happen.

He drained the bottle. Still a little thirsty. His stock was starting to run a little low. He'd have to have words with Lucas about that. The boy wasn't as clever as he thought he was. They'd have to have a talk, and soon. 'Course, their other guest was tied up in the rec room near the liquor cabinet. Jack didn't like the cut of the boy's gib. Expensive clothes and cheap talk.

Rain pelted the windows. Wasn't the worst storm they'd seen. Out the front window, he could see some of Evie's friends were out; they liked storms. Sun wasn't out and it was damp; of course, they had fun. One of them got tangled up in the Christmas lights, again. He sighed. Marguerite'd have him set them back up in the morning, again. He headed for the main hall. Above the storm, he could barely hear the creaking of door hinges over the storm. Could be Lucas, or it could be...

A smile crossed his face and he scratched his beard. It appeared somebody had snuck into their house. Didn't come down the chimney, and given the familiar wet, muddy footprints, he had a good idea who it was. It definitely wasn't ol' Saint Nick out to deliver presents.

If it was Marguerite, she'd immediately start yelling her head off. Zoe and her got along together like a house on fire as of late. Zoe was ungrateful. She was sneaky. She was mean to her sister. He agreed they had to discipline the girl, but might as well keep an even temper about things. Besides, if she was up to what he thought she was, that jackass upstairs was gonna cease to annoy him every time he went to get a drink.

There wasn't any rush. He strolled back to the garage. Leaning against a wall he found and hefted an axe. Resting it over his shoulder he returned the hall, climbed the stairs, and headed for the rec room. A thin stream of light issued from the door, slightly ajar.

"Hurry up." Came their guest's plaintive mewling.

A familiar voice sharply shushed him and hissed something too quiet to make out.

"No, you gotta hurry up. You don't know what that crazy fucking hillbilly will."

More of the girl's whispering. Angrier.

"What do you mean you know what he can…"

Zoe was apparently running of patience with this jackass as fast as everyone else around here. Common ground was wonderful. "Shut up. I'm almost… there. Now, we have to.."

Jack picked that moment to kick the door.

"Now, now, now Zoe, can't have you snoopin' 'round the house lookin' fer presents." He wasn't sure who jumped higher, Zoe or the kid, who fell in a tangle of knots as he tried to leap from his chair to the balcony door scrambled to his feet. Zoe reached down to help him up. Jack stepped into the room, and the kid, weighing his options, shoved Zoe forward, then ran past the pair as she struggled to break free. Chivalry was apparently dead for this punk.

Zoe ineffectually pounded at the arm clamped on her shoulder like a vice, like a panicking animal. He shoved her against the bar. Delinquent or not, she was his daughter; taking an axe to her might be a _little_ excessive. He set it on the bar and drew his fist back. "Spare the rod, Zoe. Spare the goddamn rod."

Her hand groped across the bar and found an empty bottle. It connected with Jack's face and shattered. He let her go, more out of surprise than pain. He'd have been a lot angrier if the bottle hadn't been empty. This was almost amusing. He whooped as she scrambled out of the room "Damnit Zoe, you are _definitely_ on the naughty list this year!"

He retrieved the axe. Zoe was probably out of the house. She was sneaking, girl had been dodging them for over a year now. So Jack would have to settle for their guest. Just follow the shrill swearing. Sounded like he was in the yard…

The back door burst open when Jack was halfway down the stairs and the kid tore in, looking over his shoulder. Guess he'd met Evie's friends. Apparently, he didn't get close enough to get bit. The kid rushed to the window and whined "What the fuck?" repeatedly.

"Oh them? They're Ol' Santy Claus's elves."

That got him running again.

Jack followed him to the garage at a leisurely pace. The kid turned couldn't get the door open, and he turned around and looked afraid. This was getting pretty fucking boring.

"Now then, son, what'd you say to a little wager, huh?" Jack said, hefting the axe. The boy was wide eyed, looked about ready to piss himself. Jack let the silence hang for a second. "Speak up! What about a bet?"

"What kind of bet?"

The kid hopped back a step when Jack tossed the axe, underhand, to his feet. God, was the boy pathetic. Evie was on the fence about him, but Jack was sure he didn't want this kid in his house anymore. "Simple rules. Pick up that axe, and hit me with it. Then, I'll return the favor, alright?"

"I g-get to hit you with this?"

"Did I f-f-fucking stutter?" Jack asked, bending down to present his neck at a convenient height. He _loved_ stress-testing this. Seeing the panic when someone thought they had him on the ropes, the feeling of meat and bone sliding back into place. It was _great_. "C'mon, take your best shot."

The kid shakily picked up the axe. Had real poor form when he swung, feet together, the blade barely nicking his neck. Jack stood up to demand the axe back, and the kid apparently decided not to honor their agreement. The second swing actually had a little force behind it, and it sank into Jack's shoulder, smashing through the collarbone. That actually dropped Jack to a knee.

Third swing was more of a graze, catching Jack in the cheek and tearing its way down. The kid didn't seem to care. Fourth hit the collarbone again, and the kid had to work to get it unstuck from the wound. Fifth sank into Jack's neck. Garage floor was getting red, Jack thought.

The kid managed a few more swings. Wild, semi-effectual swings. One even missed Jack, prone on the floor, and bounced off the concrete. The kid was tossing out profanities, apparently thinking he was a tough guy now that he managed to hit someone with an axe after being given permission. Kid's form was poor and he didn't know how to pace himself. Didn't know how to work. He tired and gave up, panting, and dropped to a sitting position on the garage floor. "You fucking bastard! Like that?"

The kid went silent as Jack got to his feet. Just locked up. No more running, no more talking, just stared at Jack, mouth agape. It was _hilarious_. Jack reached over his shoulder, gripped the axe handle, and _wrenched_ it out of his back, the kid was still. Jack stretched, working out a kink in his neck, the kid was still. The kid was still until Jack kicked him in the face, walked over to his side, and planted his boot on the kid's chest.

"Now then… I think the wager was you got to give me your best shot, nothing about all those practice swings you took." Jack said. "Reckon I deserve the same courtesy."

It was still over in one swing. Matter of pride. Jack Baker was not the kind to pay someone to do the work on his home; he knew how to maintain his property. He knew how to use an axe. Kid's head rolled off easily.

Didn't stop him from taking a few more swings. It was just fair he got as many as the kid did, after all.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : This was a riff on _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ , part of the Arthurian legend that takes place at Christmas time/New Years. Jack seems like he'd go for that wager, given how he self-mutilates a few times in game and is having a lot of fun chasing Ethan.


	3. Office Christmas Party

**Disclaimer** : Resident Evil is the Property of Capcom.

* * *

Mia laid on the bed, boring a hole in the stone wall with her eyes. She hated the holidays; had since she was a kid. _But the holidays are about family_ , Evie plaintively nagged.

That was part of the reason she didn't like them, Mia assumed. At least, she thought she did. Her mind was always foggy, she knew there was a lot of things she was _supposed_ to know but didn't. She wasn't sure what memories in her head were real or not anymore. She couldn't remember any Christmas without Evie, but something—she wasn't sure what—told her that wasn't possible.

She was pretty sure the ones with Evie in them, where there wasn't screaming and panic, weren't. The ones with Evie in them where there was screaming and panic and blood were real; because that was the only thing that explained why she woke up covered in blood every so often. The few fleeting ones with Ethan were real. At least, she thought so.

She couldn't dwell on those too much. It was better she didn't remember them, because Eveline was curious. And if she thought about Ethan too much, then…

She was better off forgetting about Ethan, like he was better off forgetting about her. If Ethan was real.

She heard footsteps in the hallway. They weren't Jack Baker's; not nearly heavy enough. They were at an even pace, not at all slow or over cautious, so they weren't Zoe's. She never heard Eveline approaching. So that left two choices. The answer came with something clanging against the bars of her cell and a whoop. Without even looking she could see the Chesire cat grin on his face. "Grounded again?"

She tensed her shoulders, shut her eyes, and tried to ignore him.

"Looks like it's just the family for dinner." Lucas said. "You, me, Ma, Pa, Evie, and Zoe, if she shows up. Man, you and Zoe, why do you girls always have to try and ruin the holidays?"

She didn't answer. For Zoe's sake, she hoped she'd be able to spend Christmas alone. Mia knew it probably wasn't an option for her.

"Wanna know how they died? Our guests, I mean." She did _not_ want to hear this idiot ramble on about people dying.

"No." She turned over to glare at him.

"Hey, you are awake! _Awesome_." Lucas beamed. "Alright, so the caroler and her brother, well, one of them ate the other, I mean, you and I both know how that goes, right?"

She did. She saw people ripped apart by the Molded. She wasn't sure why part of her insisted they were the molded, and she wasn't sure about the memories of them tearing people apart. Long silver teeth clacking, limbs elongating. She saw it, not in this dingy, rotting hellhole, but on security camera footage of a sterile lab, shown to her in a generic office. That was… it couldn't be real, could it?

"The preppy guy, y'know the one I was talking about? Well, get this…" Lucas leaned in close to the bars and stage-whispered "Dad caught him and Zoe together last night. Reacted like any self-respectin' father would, catching his daughter with a fiend like that."

He chuckled at his own joke. Zoe was always trying to coordinate with the captives. It never ended well for anyone, though she always managed to try again. Somehow, she'd have to work out just how Zoe was so good at dodging her parents and brother. That would be helpful. Of course, Zoe never _told_ her how she did it. Because while Mia tried to help her escape just as much… she had… bad dreams. Which later turned out to not be dreams. So, Zoe was wary.

"I'm kinda disappointed though. Evie too. She had wanted a few more people, and I had _plans_ drawn up man. Like something seasonal." Lucas said, nodding. "Like I actually got a few stockings, and I was gonna make 'em look in them for a key, but they'd have to walk barefoot across broken glass because…"

" _Die Hard_ 's the best Christmas movie of all time" Mia said, forcing as much sarcasm into her voice as she could. Lucas wasn't as explosively temperamental as his mother, but he had buttons to push, and if he was going to stay, she was going to push them. "I'm sure you spent a lot of time thinking about it and it'd be a lot of fun. What else? Were you gonna rig up a gun to go of if they picked the wrong stocking because then you'd get to shay 'You'll shoot your eye out'?"

Lucas was a sadistic manchild. Of course he got the broken glass from _Die Hard_. He hated being cut off, and hated anyone implying he was predictable. She saw his face twitch and redden. She had no clue if he was pissed off that her random guess for the follow up was right, or if he hadn't thought of it and was jealous she had.

"Every woman in this goddamn family." Lucas grumbled under his breath.

"I'm _not_ your family." He glanced back to her, considered it a moment, and smiled. She just gave him an opening to twist a knife.

"Evie doesn't see it that way. Says we're all just one big, happy family here." Lucas said. He didn't ever badmouth Eveline, but there was something flippant about him whenever he talked about Evie's wants. before adding "Mia, we have a _connection_."

Lucas then began laughing. Another stupid injoke, another one of his seemingly never-ending supply. Connection…

She turned that idea over in her head for a while, trying to puzzle out why Lucas emphasized that word. She didn't like his attention. Marguerite and Jack were jealous of how much Evie loved her. Lucas? She was reasonably sure even he wasn't dumb enough to lay a hand on her, but he still kept staring. Like she was endlessly amusing to him.

How were they connected? Something half-formed inside her head. A boat, a storm, and Eveline. Her husband, dying. That was fake… wasn't Ethan. But it happened. She glanced up at Lucas, smiling. He treated life and death like a joke. Of course he did, they all did. But him, he was wrong in a way that didn't quite mesh with his parents. "What are you talking about?"

"Evie. She's fa-mi-ly." He said, grinning. "Gotta stick together, gotta keep an eye on her."

He chuckled again. There was something, he wasn't like his parents. He wasn't like her. She struggled, torn in half between trying to get away and trying to never leave Evie. His parents were even more tangled up with her; beaten down to the point they never tried to get away. Lucas wasn't here for Evie. He was amusing himself.

And there was something _he_ knew that she didn't, and he loved holding it over her head.

"Damnit Lucas, what's taking so long?" Jack's voice boomed from outside the room.

"In a minute, Dad!" He turned and unlocked the cell door. "Christmas dinner. Evie really is sad you weren't going to be in attendance, so if you promise to be good…"

"I'm fine here, thank you." Mia said, lying back down and staring at the ceiling. The door creaked open anyways. The rest of the night was going to be horrible, so she let her mind wander, just briefly. How many Christmases had it been since… things happened? How many had Ethan spent alone?

She hoped it wasn't a lot. Hoped he moved on. The memories were foggy, but he didn't deserve to be alone.

"Do ya' really think there's a choice? Evie wants you at dinner." Lucas interrupted her thoughts with a grin. "Well… actually you do get a choice; walk or be dragged."

"Go to Hell, Lucas." She'd put up a fight. She how funny he thought he was if she gouged an eye. Focus on the violence, maybe she'd end up with a new nightmare that ended up with her waking up covered in blood. Wasn't really a bad dream if the person on the other end was Lucas.

"Hey Old Man!" He apparently wasn't in the mood for a fight.

Jack's footsteps thudded against the concrete. "You had one job, Lucas. One job."

"Yeah, I know. But…" Jack shoved Lucas out of the way, and there was a crash as he fell into something. "God damnit!"

Jack Baker filled the doorframe. Without a hint of his usual sadistic glee, he growled "You're coming to supper."

Mia hated the holidays.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Given their mutual employer, I think playing Mia and Lucas off against each other can be fun. She's not given tons of development, but given her fractured memories, it was fun to imagine Lucas being a jackass over how much he knew.


	4. Traditions

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is the Property of Capcom. Santa Mouse was wrttien by Michael Brown.

* * *

"Once there was a little mouse, who didn't have a name…" Marguerite read. It was a Christmas tradition; she'd picked up the silly little book when Lucas wasn't even walking, and she'd read it to her kids every Christmas. Didn't matter that Lucas and Zoe, or even Eveline were too old for the little cardboard-cutout book. "He lived alone in this great big house, this mouse; the only mouse in the whole wide house."

Jack was handling the cooking, literally just 'watch the meat, if you see smoke take it out of the oven, and if you don't, _don't touch anything_ '. Maybe he could handle that. Usually she trusted him in the kitchen as much as he trusted her in the basement with his tools. But it was Christmas, and she had to read.

Her children were all here, as was _Mia_. Lucas was barely paying attention, glancing between Evie and Marguerite with a faraway look on his face. The boy was thinking; probably how he'd rather be out in his barn, playing around with junk, rather than here with his family. Zoe was close, Evie said, and Evie knew her sister's little schemes and petty jealousies. Close enough to hear at least. And Evie was sitting on _her_ lap. Mia was almost as much trouble as Zoe was. She probably was a bad influence on Evie.

But Evie wanted Marguerite to read the book. And that made her happy.

The Mouse wasn't a like Mia, Zoe, or even Lucas who was better behaved but still apathetic. When the Mouse realized no one gave Santa a gift, he decided to give his best piece of cheese to the man. The mouse was good. Mia shuddered when she heard _gift_ , and Marguerite closed the book got up from the chair. She was about to ask _Mia_ what was wrong when Evie smiled and asked what happened next.

That cooled her rage. Evie loved gifts. She was such a sweet girl. Toys, books, people. She was always so happy, and she gave back to the family, unlike certain _ingrates_. And she gave them all a gift. And she gave Marguerite an extra special gift that a certain _Grinch_ wanted for herself. Marguerite stamped on the floor and repeated "My goodness, no one gives a gift to Santa Claus!"

Zoe was in the crawlspace again. Evie had told her. Somehow, she always managed to slip past their fingers, no matter how well they thought they had her. She was slippery, like a rotten old banana with a greasy black peel. She was always making trouble for them; where had they gone wrong? God damn ingrate.

Maybe part of the reason Evie wasn't sitting on her lap was because the book itself was in bad condition; the pictures were in rough shape. The cardboard it was printed on was swollen and warped by dampness, and the last few pages were just black. Marguerite knew the story by heart though.

Santa Claus was so impressed by the Mouse's gift that he offered to make the Mouse his little sidekick; making the mouse his little mirror image. Evie perked up at that, looking curious. The illustration was gone, but Marguerite could picture the mouse donning each tiny boot.

There was a creak down the Hallway, and then Jack shouted something sarcastic. Marguerite leapt from the chair and left the living room, screaming. She past her husband, walking slowly down the hall slowly, and saw a pale shape disappear down the corner. "Zoe, this is a family tradition! You better get your ass back here or God help me…"

She took in a deep breath. No, no, no. Zoe was trying to get her riled up, trying to ruin it for everyone. She turned and walked back to the hallway. Jack had already returned to the kitchen, staring at the oven with a purposeful grimace.

Flies buzzed around the tree. They lost a lot of decorations in the storm, and never replaced the tinsel, so they had to improvise. Red and green. The offal could've been used for supper, but wrapping it around the tree worked out.

She got back to her chair and picked the book back up. Something slapped against the window. Marguerite stood to her feet and turned, if it was Zoe... She calmed when it she saw the teeth. It was one of Evie's pets. They were congregating outside the window. They wanted to hear the story too. She sat back down and wrapped it up; the Mouse was to help Santa, and so, on Christmas, along with the milk and cookies, you should leave a piece of cheese for Santa Mouse.

"We should do that!" Evie said. Mia glanced to the side.

Marguerite didn't like making Eveline sad, but it already was Christmas. And besides, they didn't have cheese. Evie seemed to take it well.

"Rats eat meat." Lucas offered. "And we do have some leftovers."

"Mouse, not a rat!" Evie said, looking agitated with Lucas. That was important. Mice and rats weren't the same.

"Was just sayin'" Lucas said, in a tone Marguerite didn't quite like.

She took in a deep breath. Smelled something _delicious._ "Hey Jack?!"

"Yeah?" He asked, standing in the doorway.

"Is supper done?"

"I dunno. You said not to…"

"You did good, Jack." She said, brushing past him. She opened the oven. Her mouth watered. "Dinner's ready!"

Lucas and Evie got to the table right quick. Mia dragged slowly, warily behind them. Marguerite could tell this was an argument that was going to brew between them. She was so goddamn picky. Nothing Marguerite ever cooked was good enough for her. At least Lucas usually minded his manners and cleaned his plate, even if she could tell he was almost as picky. He dug in this time, though.

Jack wasn't much of a cook, but he was a great butcher. Knew the best cuts of meat on any animal. Mr. Dawson, their guest who Zoe tried to recruit against them, wasn't cut out to be a member of the family. But… the waste not, want not…

Of course there was a blow-up. Mia had to start the argument. It was most of the way through supper, and it ended with a knife in Lucas and Jack dragging her back to her room. She had to make a scene, of course she did. Marguerite sighed as she stood alone in the kitchen, clearing the plates.

"Dinner was good." Evie said. "And I liked the story."

Marguerite smiled. Hearing that made it all worthwhile.

"Do you know anymore?" She asked, smiling.

She returned to the living room and sat down, Evie in her lap. There were a lot of Christmas stories. Of course, she hadn't memorized Dickens, but she had the broad strokes down, and the major lines. Evie was hooked the moment she started with "Marley was dead, dead as a doornail.". Marguerite liked the story, too. It was about changing people for the better. They could use some of that here. Of course, with Evie here, that didn't quite matter.

 _God bless us, every one_.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I like juxtaposing what should be warm fuzzy memories against ridiculous horror, and REVII offers that in spades.


	5. I'll Be Home For Christmas

**Disclaimer:** Resident Evil is property of Capcom.

* * *

The range rover pulled to a stop. The man in fatigues looked at her with a slight, forced smile and shrugged. "You sure this is the place?"

Zoe leaned forward, looking at the thick woods. "Yeah. Thanks for the ride."

"No problem. You want me back here in two weeks?" He asked, curious. His accent was hard to place, but she guessed it came from somewhere up north. He peered out the windshield at the deep woods, looking worried.

She'd already gotten out. She opened the back door and pulled out the metal-framed backpack. Redfield must have had a _lot_ of pull to arrange this. She looked at the driver and smiled. "Two weeks. I'll be back little after New Year's."

The man was regarding the trees with suspicion. "Okay, if you get in trouble…"

"I won't. But you guys'll know…" She said, pointing at the GPS locater she was wearing around her wrist. That was a condition for this little trip. She didn't mind, if it let her get out for a few weeks.

"You know there's alligators around here, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know. Trust me, they ain't the meanest, toughest thing around here."

He looked at her like she was crazy. She laughed, which probably didn't do much to change his opinion. Partly worried, and that was probably came as part of the job, and partly curious, he asked "What's worse than a…"

"My uncle." She cut him off.

She turned and walked off the side of the. The Range Rover, big octagonal Umbrella Logo on the front passenger door, sat idle, like the driver expected to have to jump out and rescue her the moment her foot hit the dirt. She was a fair ways off the road when the she heard the driver yell out "Merry Christmas!"

She turned and yelled it back in return, then went back to her hike.

Her uncle had been something of a local legend when she was a little girl. Joe Baker could've been an all-time great if he hadn't taken a few too many punches to the head in the ring and gone crazy. Crazy Joe Baker lived in a shack on his brother's land. Crazy Joe hunted gators with a spear. Crazy Joe knew the government was out to get him. Crazy Joe would snatch you if you went off in the bayou alone and skin you.

She first argued against them. Joe was a kind man, a great guy. Even at that age she knew his isolating himself was strange. Even if his own family rarely saw him except for the holidays, despite him literally being their closest neighbor. He just liked quiet she guessed. The other kids persisted, and she eventually stopped arguing with them.

Eventually crazy Joe Baker stopped being a thing of fascination for her classmates. He became increasingly insulated from his family, as well.

She saw a pale shape on the other side of a stream in the distance. Called out "Joe?"

It faded into the bushes. She scanned the stream, and seeing an upturned log spanning it, carefully climbed on top of it and walked across. She had just gotten down on the other side when she half turned and saw something big in her peripheral vision.

She jumped back, before registering the bearded face, not exactly smiling, but not exactly frowning. He nodded. "Zoe."

Then he wrapped his arms around her in a bearhug. He set her down and sat on the log, setting the shotgun down next to him. "Been a while."

He stayed, she didn't. Umbrella had _asked_ her to stay on the ranch for a while, while they did tests. Joe was by her side the entire time, not trusting them. Weeks later, they asked if she would come with them North. He refused, not trusting them. She couldn't.

Uncle Joe built a new cabin on the sight of the old and stayed. She couldn't do that. The house, she didn't want it. She let the government declare it a Superfund site and buy it for a fraction of it's value from her, then hand it over to Umbrella. No point in fighting it like Joe said they had to; she wanted to be _away_.

They took her to Maryland, actually. She had a small place to live in crowded city, provided and monitored by Umbrella. Some place nothing like Dulvey. That was fine by her; she didn't need many reminders of home. She was checked up on constantly, it was an open question of whether or not she could return to a normal life after everything. She still had nightmares. But she was mostly fine. Alone.

Then it began getting colder, the days shorter and the nights longer. Christmas music started up in November, and the world was full of maudlin ads talking about family. It got to her. Ma, Dad, and Lucas were all dead. Sometimes it was a relief; the three Christmases before then were bad, even for how things had been. But mostly it made her realize how little there was for her.

Redfield checked up on her a lot. She got the impression he himself didn't trust Umbrella all that much, either. They got to talking about the holidays; he had plans to take his sister and visit an old friend of his and her daughters. New Years' he'd spend with a woman he knew. And she'd be… here. Did she have any place else she'd want to be?

The holidays were a time to spend with family, and she only had one left. Two days later, Redfield showed up to hammer out details on just how long she'd want to be down home. Asked her if she wanted a chaperone, laughed when she pointed out just how fond Joe was of Umbrella.

She nodded back to Joe, smiling. "It has been a while."

"They treatin' you alright?" He asked, hand drifting the shotgun to illustrate what he'd do to them if they weren't.

"I'm fine". It was more or less true. She still had odd lab work. Redfield pointed out that was common in his field, nothing to really worry about, but it worried her anyways. "How have things been here?"

"Starting to get back to normal" Joe shrugged. It wasn't really. He'd always been a distant figure, even to his brother's family, but he had always been able to look at their house while out on the water. Even if he'd been solitary, a loner, they were still nearby. Now, he was alone. "Why'd you come back?"

"It's Christmas." As if that explained things. Joe loved his family from a distance. He'd walk through Hell for them, but him showing up at the holidays was always iffy. He had walked through Hell for _her_ , but when their paths diverged, he had stayed when she could not stay. He seemed to understand, she had her life to live, and he knew the value of choosing your own path, but still she made the choice to leave him alone and to be alone.

But now she was back.

Joe smiled. He stood up and gestured for her to follow him. A long hike, short boat ride, and another, shorter hike later they were at his home. He'd managed to wrangle Dad's guns and liquor cabinet from Umbrella, at her urging. She smiled at the silly little button-eyed boxer doll on a dresser; something she had made for him years ago as a gift when, on a rare visit to the house, he commented on some arts and craft she had laying out.

She had another doll in her backpack as a gift.

They ate catfish and gator, along with some canned vegetables Zoe had brought with her. Joe was shocked she made Christmas cookies. Nothing fancy, just sugar cookies with simple icing, but she came to visit him prepared.

They talked a lot. Zoe had been living a mostly-boring life, with them still trying to sort out what she could do with her life, she just stayed in a place they provided her. Joe had built the cabin by hand and was doing a lot of fishing lately. Then they reminisced.

It was the best Christmas either had in years.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Joe Baker is ridiculous. This never-before-mentioned survivalist hermit somehow missed his family being murder cannibals for three years, then turns out to be an insane _beast_ of a player character who deals with most problems with his bare goddamn hands. So... I kinda had to try to puzzle out how _that_ happened.

That said, I was thoroughly amused by Truckasaurus Moldpuncher, and was glad Zoe made it, so I wanted to write some fluff about them reconnecting.


End file.
